


Bottled Up

by wickedradical



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bittersweet, Kinda, Passive-aggression, Sadstuck, like so much you dont even know, mom lalonde pov, rose and her mom are the queens of pettiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedradical/pseuds/wickedradical
Summary: You downed another drink or two(and maybe ten more), banishing your guilt to the darker corners of your mind. What you didn’t think about couldn’t hurt you, and more likely, couldn’t hurt your feelings. After all, who could raise a child with such fragile emotions getting in the way?A mother will do whatever is best for her children.





	

You were trying so, _so_ hard.

Raising a daughter- and one that had mysteriously fallen from the sky no less, was no easy ordeal. Especially given that the aforementioned girl was growing more and more distant each passing day.

You’d loved the giant mansion and observatory that made up the grounds of your property, and the area to do what you would without being bothered had been so refreshing.

But then Rose has fallen into your arms, a gift from the heavens above.

You’d had a child to raise, everything seemed so bright and new and you were going to _do_ things in life.

But now?

The spacious rooms and hallways, however many pictures you put up to fill the empty spaces, were too silent. Random objects were scattered around on pedestals haphazardly, a subconscious effort to delude yourself into thinking you had willing company.

You always had your wizards, you supposed.

You had wizard figurines, wizard books, wizard paintings.. Your daughter loathed them, but she never tore down the pictures like a normal teenager would. No, that would be _far_ too hasty a decision, and rather unseemly to boot.

Rose may have been ladylike, yes, you’d raised her in that semblance at least. But let it be well known that she was also selfish, sarcastic and pretentious. And you shouldn’t even get started on the passive-aggressiveness!

Your wizard pictures that had formerly plastered up in her bedroom were all removed, set immaculately against the wall outside your own room. They were never harmed in any way, not a scratch nor a smudge on any of the frames. You were beginning to think she’d started cleaning them out of spite, an underlying message telling you to  pick up you motherly duties that’d you’d been lagging behind on.

Yes, she never outwardly criticized you, and she never had. A peculiar child, but one you were stuck with and so had to deal with. However, the few times she let her presence be known- whether of her own accord or not, you could see the thinly masked distaste in her narrowed eyes. The blonde never even tried to hide her obvious disapproval or your constant drinking.

But, oh, how _ever_ could one deal with such a pretentious girl without the pleasant buzz of a martini or two?

Whenever you honestly tried to help her, she’d twist your efforts around into a more warped version, your compassionate gifts refused or changed drastically. And there were some that you hadn’t even seen the girl touch.

The doll you’d gotten her? She didn’t seem to like your wizards, so, through a more amicable means of compromise, you gotten it. You had lots of money too, so you bought the biggest one you could find and laid it out on the living room couch and eagerly awaited her reaction.

Rose had merely let out a soft huff, turned swiftly on her heel, and left. No words. Of course, as you would never let something go to waste, you left it in its place on the couch.

A week later, you’d noticed a rather unusual change in the doll’s appearance- you weren’t even sure if it could be called a _doll_ at all anymore. The arms had been ripped off and replaced with yarn-knit tentacles, and it had been ruthlessly beheaded and gifted a brand new face reminiscent of the great Cthulhu himself.

You’d boiled with rage, inwardly seething at the _nerve_ this girl had. Yet, you could never show it, knowing that the petty challenge of passive-aggressiveness would be lost and thus, winning would be in the smarmy little blonde’s favor.

You were _not_ going to give up.

So of course, when she’d gifted you a nice, shiny vacuum, you’d taken your chance. You knew this was an ‘ironic’ dig at your lack of housework. Every time you even tried, she’d snidely point out what you were doing wrong, like when you were mopping and had forgotten the water. Alcohol worked wonders, but sometimes things were forgotten to the haze that tipsiness brought. Of course, you’d promptly quit, wanting no part in doing anything that would allow your daughter more space to mock you.

You had the vacuum bronzed and put up an a pedestal, of course leaving it unusable. The _perfect_ crime. Sometimes you flipped the switch to turn it on just to mock her back.

Although(and you’d never admit it), sometimes when you were sober you gave it a glance, frowning at how you were only goading her onwards in this stupid, petty battle of wits. Those times you turned it on and let it rumble as a tribute to your unbelievably crappy child-raising skills.

You downed another drink or two(and maybe ten more), banishing your guilt to the darker corners of your mind. What you didn’t think about couldn’t hurt you, and more likely, couldn’t hurt your feelings. After all, who could raise a child with such fragile emotions getting in the way?

You felt a pang in your head, and you knew a headache was coming on. Rubbing your fingers to your temple for a moment, you busied yourself with making another martini. It was cathartic, almost hypnotic. Going through the motions was second nature, and if tested you were sure that you could do it just as well blindfolded. Your skills were a product of muscle memory and years and years of bottled-up emotions.

You gave the glass a swirl, posing daintily for a moment and giggling. You were on your own, and were allowed a bit of fun. Taking a small sip and savoring the flavor, you walked over to the window. Although most people would be perturbed and more than a little scared when seeing meteors plummeting down ruthlessly, you watched it calmly.

It wasn’t that you knew this was going to happen, no. You were just too sloshed to care. Watching bright plumes of fire raise, battling against the rain, you let a small smile quirk your lips. What a beautiful sight.

Before you knew it, the glass was empty. Your head was also buzzing, a dull static taking the place of rational thought. Being surrounded by trees ablaze, you had no way to leave. Besides, you didn’t quite care to. Such extreme climate would ruin your immaculately groomed hairdo, wouldn’t it?

You were perfectly content to die in the company of your wizards.

Rose was probably scurrying her little tush right off trying to find a solution. Imagining her make an effort to do so was amusing, you half expected her to take her notepad outside and psychoanalyze them

Rose.

You really _did_ quite care for her.

However, as you heard the loud explosion of a meteor nearby(probably the laboratory, you mused), you deduced that your end was imminent.

You poured yourself another drink, and downed it without a single thought.


End file.
